Rozas knew her head was now smashed from the black cat’s tentacles…. Rozas could only see the torn and ripped back of the elf. The elf, given of Lathander, she had always said, was in the doorway. His chest ripped open and a pool of blood around his corpse.
The halfling, he had slumped against the dark wooden desk of engraved skulls. Tymora’s holy symbol now resting oddly on the stone floor from a chain that was around his broken neck. The man’s chainmail sparkled with reflected candlelight. Refocusing her attention to the wet chamber, the bodies where still there. She could remember any minutiae of spell in her spellbook yet names, well they were like the shadows. It was easy for Rozas to convince the human paladin, halfling rogue, and elf cleric to come to this sunken wizard’s tower in the swamp.
Sputtering light, like Razor’s fading hope. The tall candles, lit hours ago in the dank cold stone chamber, now burned low. That kind of mistake would have betrayed her life. Her spellbook nearly tumbled from her lap. Slowly she opened the wardrobe door with one hand. The darkness about her was as dark as her soul.
Her whole body was cramped stiff with exhaustion.
